


light up my world

by 1000_directions



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anxious Bucky Barnes, M/M, Makeup, Protective Clint Barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 08:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18774769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000_directions/pseuds/1000_directions
Summary: “Do I look stupid?” Bucky asks very quietly.“God, no,” Clint says with an odd-sounding laugh. “Jesus, you look….”“Ridiculous,” Bucky says glumly.“Hot,” Clint breathes. “Christ, you look so fucking hot.”Bucky doesn't know he's beautiful, but that's what makes him beautiful.





	light up my world

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClaraxBarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/gifts).



> this story was inspired by [this extremely gorgeous art](https://claraxbarton.tumblr.com/image/184759108475) by ClaraxBarton!!
> 
> thanks to the bad decision buddies who sprinted me through this!

“Can you do anything different with your face?” the photographer asks Bucky hesitantly.

“Different how?” He’d agreed to do the Rolling Stone interview because Steve thought it would help rehabilitate his image with the public, especially now that he’s officially an Avenger. He didn’t realize at the time that he was also agreeing to a photoshoot, and if he _had_ known, he’d probably have refused. Which is probably why Steve didn’t tell him.

“Different, just….” The photographer, who is named Patrick, runs through a weird series of facial expressions: lips puckered, eyebrows raised, jaw slack, gaze averted. “Just anything different at all. This is an entertainment magazine, and I don’t mind something a little dark and moody, but all you’re giving me is war refugee on the cover of National Geographic.”

“I _am_ a war refugee,” Bucky grumbles, crossing his arms over his bare chest. He fucking hates this. He’s wearing a pair of jeans with no shirt, which has nothing to do with Avenging, and everyone can see his scars, and people are just _looking_ at him. He doesn’t like being looked at this much, especially when he’s not sure he even looks like himself. There’s make-up on his face, and they put a weird powder on his arm so that it wouldn’t cause a lens flare, and he thinks they want him to be someone he can’t be.

And the thing is, Bucky has spent a long, long time working on himself. He spent years on the run trying to piece his past back together, and he went back into the goddamn nightmare freezer when it was all too much for him to handle. And Shuri worked with him, uncrossed his shitty wires and taught him some new strategies for dealing with the unbearable burden of being an alive person who had done terrible things that caused other good people to not be alive anymore.

He’s proud of his progress. He meditates now. He goes for runs and lifts weights, and he volunteers at a senior center _and_ an animal shelter. Plus, he’s a fucking Avenger. And it took a lot of work for him to feel stable and settled inside himself.

And he’s not going to let some punk with a camera make him feel like _less_.

But his heart starts racing, and his eyes feel like they’re looking everywhere at once, and he’s getting that vague sort of unhinged feeling that tells him _warning, warning, you’re on a bad path, reverse course_. It’s supposed to be a signal for himself, an indication that he needs to remove himself from a bad situation and take a breath and let his emotions even out again. But there are so many faces, and the lights are so bright, and everyone is staring at him, and he looks from person to person, eyes jumping all over the place, and he can’t find--

“Okay, we need the room,” Clint says, standing up and walking over, and Bucky fixates on him, tries to slow his breathing to match the cadence of Clint’s steps.

“Listen, I really think we--” Patrick protests, but Clint ignores him, shrugging off his oversized flannel shirt and draping it over Bucky’s shoulders.

“We need,” Clint says cooly, over-enunciating each word, “the room.”

Clint projects enough authority that people actually listen to him and begin shuffling out, snapping off equipment and mumbling under their breath. Bucky breathes in through his nose, and he smells fabric softener and coffee and Clint, and it’s familiar and comforting and grounding, so he just closes his eyes and breathes until it’s quiet.

And then he opens his eyes, and it’s just him and Clint.

“You okay, baby?” Clint asks softly, and Bucky sighs and takes stock.

“Yeah,” he says quietly after a minute of contemplation. “I think I got a little overstimulated. Took a little detour in my mind.”

“Did you find your way back?” Clint crouches down so they’re eye-level, and he runs his hand gently over Bucky’s shoulder through the worn material of his shirt, and Bucky is hit by an unexpected burst of gratitude. He knows Clint is his boyfriend, and he knows he loves him, but sometimes, he still gets surprised by how _good_ Clint is for him.

“I’m right here,” Bucky says with a small smile. “Thank you. Sorry I overreacted.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I’ve done way worse over way less. Do you want to go home?”

“No,” Bucky says. It’s tempting, but if he doesn’t do this now, he’ll just have to do it later. “I want to get it over with.”

“How can I help?”

And even after all this time, Bucky still has to fight against his instinct to say, _It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I don’t need help, there’s nothing you can do. I have it under control._ Because he doesn’t have it entirely under control, and he’s allowed to ask for help. Clint wants to help him, and he’s allowed to accept that.

So he mulls it over, and he decides, “If you could stand somewhere I can see you, like where I can see your eyes, I think that would be good.”

“No problem,” Clint says. “Look at me instead of looking at the camera. What else?”

“Can you make him stop fucking talking to me? I don’t like him judging me.”

“I don’t like him judging you either,” Clint says. “Is it okay if he talks to me, and then I talk to you? Just to make sure we’re getting good shots he can use.”

“That’s okay.”

“What else do you need?”

“Just….” All at once, Bucky feels very tired. Not sleepy, just run down. Emotionally spent. “Remind me again why I’m doing this at all.”

“You,” Clint says softly, “are amazing. You’re a fucking hero and a good man, and other people should know that about you. And they’re going to see you on the cover of this magazine looking a little different from how they think of you in their heads. And it’s going to reel them in, and then they’ll read about you and learn all the good things I already know.”

“And that’s important,” Bucky says uncertainly.

“I think it’s important to you,” Clint says simply.

And it’s hard to admit, but...Clint’s right about that. Bucky didn’t become the best version of himself because he was necessarily trying to change anyone’s minds about him. It was something he did for himself, not for anyone else. And yet, at this stage in his healing, he wouldn’t mind a little external validation now and then.

“I can do this for ten more minutes,” Bucky says, “and then I gotta wipe this shit off my face. It’s making me feel weird, Clint. Feels like someone else’s face. I don’t like feeling like someone else.”

“I won’t let you get lost,” Clint says. “But I’ll tell him he only gets ten more minutes, and then he needs to fuck off, and we’ll get you all scrubbed back to normal.”

“Do I look stupid?” he asks very quietly. This article is important to him. It’s serious. This is his first opportunity to explain to people who he really is, and he has a lot to say. He’s worried that this photographer is trying to turn him into a clown, trying to undermine him. But this is too crucial to fuck up.

“God, no,” Clint says with an odd-sounding laugh. “Jesus, you look….”

“Ridiculous,” Bucky says glumly.

“Hot,” Clint breathes. “Christ, you look so fucking hot.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, startled. That...hadn’t even occurred to him.

“I’m not like...turned on by you being upset,” Clint says hastily. “I mean, I am turned on, yes, and you are upset, but it’s not, like, causative. Causational. It just...correlates. You just. You’re hot like this. Not because you’re upset, but like. Shirtless. With make-up. Is a hot look for you.”

“Okay,” Bucky says slowly.

“Not that you’re not hot the rest of the time,” Clint adds hurriedly, and Bucky feels a smile creeping over his face as Clint gets deeper and deeper into this weird hole he’s decided to dig for himself. “I always think you’re hot. I want to fuck you literally always. Happy, sad, awake, asleep. Not that I’d fuck you when you were asleep! Consent is really important. I promise I’m not perving on you when you’re asleep. Shit.”

“I love you,” Bucky says. His boyfriend is such a weirdo, but such a good guy. Bucky got very, very lucky with how things turned out.

“I love you, too, and you’re not just a sex object to me,” Clint says, scrunching up his face. “I care about your brain. Is your brain okay?”

“My brain is going to be just fine,” Bucky says. “My boyfriend promised he can get the photographer to wrap this up in the next ten minutes, and then I’m gonna try to seduce him.”

“You’re going to seduce Patrick?” Clint asks, outraged.

“You, dumbass,” Bucky says patiently. “I’m going to seduce _you_.”

“Oh. That...does make more sense, yes.”

“Can you kiss me without smudging all this shit on my face?”

“Probably not,” Clint says happily, leaning in to give Bucky a wet, wicked kiss. He lingers over Bucky’s mouth for one delicious minute, pressing his warm, chapped lips to Bucky’s waxy lipstick, and Bucky feels positively debauched when Clint finally pulls away.

“How bad is the damage?” Bucky asks, his tongue darting out to wet the corner of his mouth.

“You look like you’ve seen some action in your time, darling,” Clint says with a satisfied smile.

“You’re wearing half my lipstick,” Bucky says, noting the way it’s smeared all over Clint’s mouth.

“Is it my color?” Clint asks with what he probably thinks is a sultry pout.

“No.”

“I don’t mind,” Clint says with a shrug, rubbing at his lower lip with his middle finger. “Mark me up, baby. I’m yours.”

“Please get all those people back in here,” Bucky says, shrugging off his shirt and tossing it back to Clint. “I wanna get this over with and go home and ruin you a bit and then not get out of bed for a week. Please.”

“Okay,” Clint says dazedly. “I mean, because you said please.”

He blinks at Bucky a few more times, still stroking his own finger over his lips. Then he almost trips over his own feet in his haste to run back to the door and herd everyone back into the room. Patrick stalks back to the front and begins setting up his camera again, and a few other people start repositioning the lights. Tony strolls in, uninvited, munching on an apple.

“Well, someone’s been busy,” he says with a smirk. “Please don’t tell me you held up production on this very important, very expensive photoshoot because you couldn’t keep your dicks in your pants.”

“My dick is literally the only part of me that’s even remotely covered,” Bucky says grumpily. He kind of wishes he had an apple.

“Hey, don’t be such a sour puss, Zayn Malik at the 2016 Met Gala,” Tony says. Bucky and Clint both look at him blankly, and Tony scowls. “Really, nothing? That was a great reference. That one’s worth Googling, trust me.”

“I promise to text you a crying-from-laughter emoji later on,” Clint says, “but for now, we’ve got a bit of a time crunch so...I don’t know, just kinda fuck off a bit.”

“Gigi Hadid would _never_ ,” Tony says, taking an ostentatiously large bite of his apple before turning on his heel to leave. “Smile pretty for the cameras, Bucko.”

“Did he really come all the way over here from the tower just to insult us?” Bucky wonders.

“Probably,” Clint says. “Hey, are all you guys ready to go? You’ve got like eight minutes left before this train leaves the station. And by ‘this train,’ I mean Bucky carrying me piggy-back out to the car.”

“Ready,” Patrick says immediately. “Get out of the shot. You’re in his light.”

“I _am_ his goddamn light,” Clint mutters as he goes to stand behind Patrick’s shoulder, and Bucky smiles brightly for the first time all day.

And this time, Bucky feels lighter. More at ease. With his eyes locked on Clint’s, he feels more _himself_. And Clint makes him laugh, makes him smile. And when Clint gives him _that look_ , Bucky smolders right back at him. And when Clint makes a frankly obscene gesture where Patrick can’t see, it’s easy as anything for Bucky to smirk and flip him off.

“Got it,” Patrick mutters, checking the screen on his camera. “Yeah, definitely, that’s the one. I got it.”

“You got it all by yourself,” Clint agrees with a too-big grin. “No one else helped you or did all the work at all. So if you don’t need us for anything else, I’ve got a train to catch.”

“I wouldn’t mind taking a little B-roll,” Patrick muses, but Clint is already running at Bucky full-speed.

“All aboard!” he hollers, launching himself onto Bucky’s back, and Bucky just manages to get into position and catch him in time.

“You’re an idiot,” Bucky says fondly as he feels Clint’s arms wrap around his bare chest from behind.

“Carry me to the car,” Clint says.

“Can I put on a shirt first?”

“No,” Clint says, snuggling in closer. “I’m your shirt.”

Bucky isn’t sure that’s how it works, but it’s usually not worth it to argue with Clint about dumb things. So he makes sure he has Clint securely balanced on his back and starts making his way to the door.

Just as they’re heading out into the hallway, Clint murmurs, “I’m gonna clean you up.”

Before Bucky can ask what that means, he feels a warm, wet pressure down the side of his cheek. And then Clint is noticeably silent.

“Did you just...try to lick off my make-up?” Bucky asks incredulously.

“Yes,” Clint says, sounding miserable. “It was not a good idea. My mouth tastes like face.”

“You better not kiss me with that mouth,” Bucky says, hiding a grin as they head outside to the parking lot.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Clint declares before licking Bucky’s other cheek.

“What did that prove?” Bucky sputters in disbelief as Clint makes gagging noises.

“I don’t know,” he wails. “Why did I do that? Why do I keep doing that?”

“Stop licking the make-up off of my face,” Bucky orders.

“No more licking,” Clint agrees. He hops down from Bucky’s back as they approach the car. “I’m gonna save all my mouth-moves for when your Rolling Stone cover comes out. I’m gonna hang that shit on my bedroom wall like a pin-up, and I’m gonna kiss that picture good morning, good afternoon, and good night.”

“Why are you wasting all those kisses for a picture?” Bucky murmurs, slowly turning around to give Clint what he hopes is a sexy stare. “Are you saving any kisses for me?”

“I’m saving all my best kisses for you,” Clint promises with a smile. He ducks his head and kisses Bucky gently. “Now let’s get you home and wash your face.”

“You want to lick me again, don’t you?”

“I want to lick you so bad!” Clint whines. “I didn’t before, but now that I know I can’t, I _need_ to!”

Bucky can’t contain his smile, and he feels miles away from the weird anxiety that had ensnared him earlier that afternoon. It was a lifetime ago. Now, he’s back to himself, and he feels safe and secure in who he is.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Bucky says, giving Clint’s hand a squeeze. “Take me home and I’ll let you lick me to your heart’s content.”

**Author's Note:**

> (okay but you should really google zayn malik at the 2016 met gala)
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr post](https://1000-directions.tumblr.com/post/184773593599/title-light-up-my-world-link-ao3-ship)


End file.
